77 El Deora Summer Shows

While I missed the Cowgirl-A-Palooza on Labor Day at El Rio, I have been able to take in some great local shows recently. Lance, Greg, and Jason joined me briefly for a show in the tiny performance space at the Hotel Utah on August 21. Kate and I lamented the lack of dance floor, but I was too happy with the remarkable performance by the B Stars to be too bummed about it.

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The B Stars and 77 El Deora at Hotel Utah

77 rounded off their weekend with a show up at Peri's in Fairfax, CA. The Bay was cold and fogged in pretty far north, but once I hit Sir Francois Drake up by the Richmond Bridge, it was sunshine and hot lollipops. It turned out to be a great afternoon. I've enjoyed talking with bass player Mike A, who found out via Facebook that we have mutual friends outside the band. He's crazy with the hot and I want Maurice or Jen to write a country song about "Taking the B out of Bass Player." That, or "Every time he plucks those strings I wish he were plucking me." We'll see.

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At one point during the outdoor show someone's toddler (I'm guessing 18 months) toddled up to the stage and Jen offered him the microphone. He declined, walked back across the dirt and up to me. He smiled broadly and did the universal "pick me up" signal. As we were both "vetted" by band members from the stage during the show I picked him up with only little fear of "there's a stranger with my baby!" reactions. I bounced him on my knee and the kid just beamed happy with the attention and the music.

A few minutes later a large man came up to me and said something lost in the din which I took to mean, "Hey, that's my kid. Is he bothering you? Thanks for paying attention to him" sort of mumblings. I muttered something equally nondescript along the lines of "No problem. I have nephews and nieces. He's fine here as long as he's entertained."

The man then got increasingly agitated and louder and communicated that he worked for the bar and even in the large outdoor space out back, kids were not allowed. He was telling me, "You can't have your baby here. Your baby cannot be here."

It was all I could do to say, "Okay. My baby's not here."

"You can't have your baby here."
"This is not my baby."
"You can't have your baby here!"
"This is not my baby."
"I don't understand."
"This baby. Not mine. He's just here for the band."

I toyed with the galoot a little longer before his mother ultimately appeared and abashedly took him and his stroller outside to view over the fence with the other performers' children. (I kept thinking about that old joke that ends with "You said your dog did not bite!" "That is not my dog.")

Flickr sets: Hotel Utah, Peri's.